


Dragged Into Perdition

by WingedJackalope



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Dark, Demon Dean, Demon!Dean, Hell, M/M, Wing Kink, wing!kink
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-07-07
Updated: 2014-07-07
Packaged: 2018-02-07 20:01:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,721
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1911894
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WingedJackalope/pseuds/WingedJackalope
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The angels have invaded Hell in order to save the righteous man, but he doesn’t want to be saved. Now Dean has a new blue eyed angel on his rack and is planning all kinds of fun with his new plaything.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dragged Into Perdition

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted here:
> 
> http://spnkink-meme.livejournal.com/79365.html?thread=29282309#t29282309
> 
> I am making no promises as to when updates will be out but I will *try* to have a chapter out every two weeks or so. I have no beta so there will probably be mistakes, sorry.
> 
> Also, the title came from the person who tagged the original post, I recall they went by "Sorrow Befallen" or something along those lines but the original comment is gone so I can't be 100% sure. This may be an individual who has deleted their livejournal who went by "SorrowBefallen". I love the title and plan to use it unless this individual would prefer if I didn't. To that person: thank you and I would be happy to credit you for this if you ever contacted me.

Dean’s knife cut through the woman on his rack’s abdomen like a hot knife through butter. A gurgled hiss escaped her mouth, something that might have been a scream had her vocal cords not been ripped out several hours ago. Her limbs hung from her torso like spaghetti, the bones removed and the flesh sliced into dozens of tiny strips, each one causing agonizing pain. She reminded Dean vaguely of one of those cheese strings children occasionally peeled to make look like a person. The thought made him chuckle quietly as he continued his work, dragging out internal organs from the opening he created.

Before Dean could decide what else he was going to do the woman, a blinding white light from behind rudely interrupted him. He hissed and turned, shielding his eyes. He was unable to make out the source but whatever it was, he doubted anything from Hell could be that bright and any enemy of Hell was an enemy of his. 

Dean grabbed a knife from his table and lunged blindly towards the light. He felt it go straight through the air, missing whatever was in the light, assuming there was anything solid to hit at all. The knife was suddenly torn from his grasp by some unseen force and he heard it clatter against a distant wall, well out of his reach. Dean backed up and grabbed another blade from his table, ready to strike again.

“I am not your enemy, Dean Winchester,” came a voice from the light, which was now rapidly dimming. The statement was enough to give Dean pause and watch for a moment, as the blinding white radiance became a faint glowing aura around a dark haired man in a suit and a trench coat. “I am an angel of the Lord,” he explained, “and I have come to raise you from perdition.” The angel showed his wings in proof of his claim. They were gigantic and black as night, yet still had that same pure white aura as the rest of him. It was enough proof for Dean to know he was right to attack

Dean lunged forward with the knife again, this timing sinking it deep into the angel’s shoulder. He was rewarded with a surprised look but no obvious signs that it had felt anything. Fearing he was outmatched, Dean did what he could and took advantage of the creature’s surprise and tackled it to the ground, grabbing hold of its wings and bent them until he felt the delicate bones beneath the surface snap in his fists. This time the angel screamed and pushed Dean off, throwing him across the room and causing him to crash against a wall.

Dean took a moment to recover and stand up, bracing himself for another attack, but there was none. The angel had stood up with its broken wings hanging crookedly behind him and Dean’s knife still sticking out of his shoulder but showed no signs of further retaliation. His look was perplexed, as though it simply could not fathom why a demon of hell would attack an angel of heaven.

“I’m here to save you, why are you resisting?” it asked. Dean replied by charging at the angel, once again tackling it to the ground. This time Dean yanked the knife out of the angel’s shoulder and then used it to slit the angel’s throat. Blood soon coated the both of them, even as the angel brought its hand up in a futile attempt to stem the bleeding. 

Dean turned the angel over and straddled its back, pushing its wings up and holding pressing his knife into the base of the wings where they somehow went through the layers of clothing and presumably into the creature’s back. The angel sprayed blood from his throat and mouth as he attempted to say something but Dean never found out what. He took a swing with his blade at the joint but didn’t make it all the way through so continued to slice and saw until the wings separated from the angel’s body.

Usually Dean avoided severing limbs; they couldn’t be used to inflict pain if they weren’t there, but in this case subduing was more important than torturing. The angel had been thrashing while its wings were being cut off but was just shaking now, not even struggling when Dean sliced through the tendons of its arms and legs, immobilizing it. When the demon stood up, releasing the angel, the broken creature continued to lie on the ground, shaking, in terrible pain, and incapable of even screaming due to the deep gash across its neck. 

Dean ripped the remains of his previous victim from his rack and replaced her with the angel, which was already healing its injuries. The flesh at the edges of the tear in its throat was stitching itself back together and new bone was growing from the stubs were its wings used to be. 

Dean was curious to watch the healing process and so cut off the angel’s clothing to get a better look. When the coat, suit jacket, and shirt fell away he decided to continue, tearing away its pants, underwear, and even its shoes until it was completely nude in front of him, though still covered in blood. It was an appealing sight that brought other methods of torture to Dean’s mind, but the creature was still a potential threat for now and had to be treated as such.

Dean sat nearby and watched the angel’s body repair itself with fascination, learning the anatomy of its wings as they were rebuilt from the bone up before his eyes. By the time most of the skeleton and some of the muscle was back, Dean realized he had made a bit of a mistake. 

Dean’s torture rack was not designed for comfort, it was a rectangular frame with a few beams across to prevent the soul from falling back as well as straps and hooks with who knows what kind of symbols etched on to them designed to restrain a soul and hopefully, maybe, an angel. It was through one of the gaps between the beams that the angel’s wings were healing. Dean would either have to destroy his rack or cut off the angel’s wings again to ever get the creature out of it. The realization didn’t bother Dean too much, but it would still be a pain. At this rate he would soon have a collection of severed angel wings. _Maybe I can hang them up for decorations or something_ , he mused.

The healing process took a few hours, during the entire length of which the angel appeared comatose. It wasn’t until almost all of the feathers had grown back in that the angel’s eyes finally fluttered open and searched the room, finding Dean’s green eyes watching and waiting. The creature pulled pathetically at the bindings secured around its wrists, shoulders, waist, and ankles before accepting that the effort was futile. Dean gave a sigh of relief.

“Why have you restrained me?” it asked with what seemed to be genuine confusion to Dean.

“How do you know my name?” Dean questioned back, ignoring the angel.

“You are the righteous man, the one destined to save the world. We were sent here to rescue you so that you may fulfill your destiny.” He said it like it was obvious, like he was stating something as plain as one plus one equals two. It sounded like bullshit to Dean; he was no righteous man, at least, not anymore.

“We?” If there were more than one of these things around he would have to be careful and probably alert Alastair at the very least, maybe even a higher up like Lilith.

“My brothers, sisters, and I.”

“Angels?”

The creature nodded in response. A quiet moment passed while Dean considered his options. He could turn the angel over like he probably should, or he could keep it for himself. If there really were more angels flying around, chances are they were too busy to notice Dean keeping one hidden away, but it was a big risk if anyone found out. The higher ups would want it tortured for information no doubt, but they wouldn’t let a young demon like Dean have that honor, more likely the task would pass to Alastair. 

The demon watched the angel shift uncomfortably in its bonds, knowing it would be unable to find a less painful position. The creature was beautiful; it’s soft black hair and wings contrasting with paleness of its skin and the lean muscle that hid beneath it. It’s eyes were a blue so bright and vivid that it reminded Dean of the sky he hadn’t seen in forty years. Those eyes met Dean’s without hesitation, without backing down, and without fear. Dean wanted to change that.

“Why won’t you let me save you?”

“From what? I’m right where I want to be, especially with a pretty angel like you on my rack.” Dean flashed his coal black eyes and moved in close to the angel, violating its space without touching it, yet. The angel furrowed its brow and cocked its head, its expression turning to one of great disappointment.

“You’ve been demonized.” 

“No shit, Sherlock.” There was a confused pause, as the angel attempted to process what Dean had just said to him.

“Castiel.” 

“...What?”

“My name is Castiel, not Sherlock.”

“I really don’t care,” Dean replied with a hint of a chuckle as he picked up a scalpel and dragged it along the angel’s chest. Castiel whimpered when the demon pulled back large flaps of skin from his chest like he was doing a high school dissection. Dean leaned in close, producing a muffled cry from the angel as the exposed and sensitive flesh was stimulated by the contact between their bodies. Dean leaned in even further, so close that he was sure Castiel could feel the heat of his breath on its ear before flicking his tongue out and running it along the edge and then biting the lobe with a sharp canine hard enough to draw blood. He felt as well as heard the angel inhale sharply with a hiss at the sudden sensation.

Dean chuckled darkly in Castiel’s bleeding ear, “We are going to have _so_ much fun.”

**Author's Note:**

> Please comment and/or leave a kudos if you like this!
> 
> You can check out my tumblr and follow me here:
> 
> http://damnmyoveractiveimagination.tumblr.com


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